A Blue Vibrator Changed My Sex Life

Frustrated that sex wasn't bringing me the elusive orgasms I craved, I found them myself thanks to an unexpectedly arousing toy.

I was 22 years old in a shower in Paris when I had my first orgasm. There was no man in sight — just a phallic, plastic shaft the same color as a blue raspberry Blow Pop. In that steamy (literally) moment, the Blueberry Bliss vibrator changed my sexual life.

Before Blueberry, sex was pure frustration. "You like that?" guys would ask from between my legs. "Um, keep going," I'd instruct, as clueless boyfriends rubbed everywhere but my clitoris. Occasionally, someone would get close — but I'd always stop him by faking an orgasm (lots of loud puppyish noises did the trick) just as the sensation started to get really intense. The truth is, I was scared. Although I lost my virginity at 15 and always had boyfriends, I never really masturbated. I spent more time fantasizing about crushes falling in love with me than discovering what I found arousing. Tapping into my own pleasure seemed less motivating than making myself into what guys wanted. Plus, being an orgasm virgin made me afraid of my body. If I come, will I pee? I wondered. Sometimes, it felt like I might.

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By my 20s, I knew I was missing out. "Maybe I've had an orgasm," I'd say to friends. "If I think I have, I probably have…right?" They stared at me with pity. One Sunday, my best friend dragged me to Babeland. I chose the Blueberry Bliss Turbo Glider because it was the cheapest, and I promptly hid it deep in my closet from my then live-in boyfriend. I continued to fake orgasms with him and then felt resentful about the fact that he got a lot more pleasure from our sex life than I did. A few days before traveling to Paris for a summer study-abroad trip, I slid Blueberry into my suitcase on a whim.

Was it in the spirit of trying new things that I whipped it out and took it with me into the shower? More likely, it was because I was finally alone. I stood there, water streaming down my face, rubbing the vibrator (on medium speed) in a circular motion on my clitoris until, miracle of miracles, my mind went blank and my entire body turned to fizz. I let out a soft little "oh," more of a choke than a moan. Do you even need to ask how I spent the rest of my summer in Paris? There were no guys involved, but I was coming daily.

It took getting myself off to learn that sexual chemistry requires a give and take. Once I knew how I liked to be touched, I dropped the fake porny act and realized that compromising my own pleasure for the sake of someone else's feelings was only going to hurt my relationships. Ultimately, this led to breaking up with the boyfriend, who could never get the job done, even after I figured out how to explain what turned me on. Without Blueberry, I might still be with him. Happily, I now have mind-blowing orgasms with other human beings. In fact, I hardly ever use Blueberry anymore. But we'll always have Paris.

Julie Buntin is a New York–based writer of embarrassingly personal stories she hopes her mother never reads.